I haven’t seen hawks like that before,
mottled brown,
soaring low over the beach,
causing resting gulls to take flight
into a mass of organized chaos.
How is it the gulls never crash into one another?
The hawks settle into a tree,
a tree in which I frequently see bald eagles resting.
The hawks gaze down at the promenade along the beach,
heads following a small dog
being walked by its human.
Suddenly the hawks take flight.
Are they going for the small dog?
No, they are rising higher.
Not hunting,
but fleeing.
They have seen something
and are flying hard to the east.
Against the bright sky,
I see the bald eagles appear from the west.
One chases a hawk who thinks it’s found sanctuary
in the branches of a tree.
But that is no sanctuary.
The bald eagle chases him in.
Unseen, the sound of feathered wings thrashing
against branches speak of an epic battle.
Soon, the hawk emerges from the tree,
flying hard to escape the eagle,
who finally abandons the chase
at the eastern edge of the lake.